


The Musical Dreamers

by the_emerald_rose



Category: Radical Dreamers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_emerald_rose/pseuds/the_emerald_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the run from Porre's local authorities, the Radical Dreamers attempt to hide out in plain sight in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Musical Dreamers

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really short thing, and I don't plan on continuing it. Sorry.

It was a small tavern, tiny really, filled with all manner of patrons. A thick haze of smoke hung abouts, muffling the rancorous laughter. Glasses clinked against each other and the wooden tables. Above it all, the sound of harpsichord and flute and violin playing together brought together the atmosphere of the tavern.

The players themselves were just as odd as the patrons. The violinist was a thin sixteen year old girl, clad in a red jacket and green skirt. Her blonde hair had been tied into a smart braid, reaching down her back. A pendant dangled from her neck, bobbing with each of her movements. Her fingers were clumsy on the strings, and she was quickly growing impatient with her inability to play successfully. The flute player was a man clad in a white shirt and white pants, tucked into black boots. Over his head he had a blue hood attached to a cloak, obscuring his face. His skill with the flute was impressive, and he seemed to desperately want to get the violinist to be better. Every time he moved her fingers onto the right chord, she made a stabbing motion at him with the bow of her instrument.

The harpsichordist was covered head to toe in a dark blue cloak. Underneath, a black shirt and leggings could be seen. His face was obscured further by a golden mask. His skill with the instrument was masterful, and he seemed to be quite bored of their performance.

As the night went on, more people filtered in, including a group of people who already seemed quite drunk. They staggered up to the stage the trio were performing on, laughing crudely and ordering rounds for all involved.

“Oi, girly!” one of the new drunkards called, “Lemme see that skirt!”

The violinist shouted back, “Keep yer pants on, else I’ll…”

She was interrupted by the flutist pulling her back and whispering angrily at her, “Kid, calm down. We’re supposed to keep our cool. You know, with the whole city guard on our trail?”

Kid scoffed and growled, “He wants me to strip for ‘im, Serge!”

“Just shut up and keep playing. And you’re hitting that D string wrong, dammit!”

Kid growled, then resumed playing with a false smile. Serge went back to playing as well, his foot tapping out the rhythm. The peace was quickly disturbed by another drunkard reaching for Kid’s ankle. The violin dropped from her hands, slamming onto the stage. She reached onto her belt and pulled out her dagger, shouting, “Don’t you dare touch me!”

“So much for cover,” Serge groaned, putting the flute down. The tavern had grown silent, and the drunkard had drawn his own blade.

The harpsichordist put the instrument down and asked in a gravelly voice, “Do we flee?”

“I don’t think she’s going to run from this, Magil.” Magil nodded, otherwise not moving. Serge grabbed his own knife and groaned, “Why can’t she just keep her cool?”

“There are many mysteries in this world, Serge. Kid is one of them.”

Already, Kid had stabbed the man who grabbed her ankle in the arm, and was working on fighting off his friends. Serge joined the fray, still shaky with his knifehand. His idea for disguising themselves as travelling musicians had worked for a time, but he really hadn’t counted on Kid’s temper. Fighting wasn’t his thing. Playing music was.

The city guard had been contacted, with the word that the Radical Dreamers were back. After a failed heist on the mayor of Porre’s house, all of Porre knew about the trio. The fiery Kid was their leader, a skilled thief and fighter with a short temper. Her two accomplices weren’t terribly well known, but always with her.

Magil grabbed Kid and pulled her away from the brawl, drawing her into his cloak. He grabbed Serge as well, muttering a spell incantation. Kid yelled, “Lemme go, Magil! I can take ‘em!”

“Do we HAVE to warp out?” Serge asked. Warping with Magil’s shadowmagic was always unpleasant. There was a back door to the establishment, and hopefully they didn’t know about it.

Magil shook his head and warped them outside. The moon dangled overhead, near full. Clouds drifted lazily across the night sky, intermittently obscuring the bright stars. Serge stumbled and fell over, disoriented from the use of shadowmagic. He was getting better, and he didn’t vomit like the first time Magil had teleported him, but he was nowhere near as used to it as Kid was. She dusted herself off and growled, “I coulda taken ‘em, Magil…”

“Yes, and they would have taken your life.” He lowered his hood, revealing long blue hair tied loosely into a braid.

Serge pulled down his own hood and scratched at his messy blonde hair. He knew rolling with these two was going to be a rough time, but not necessarily life threatening! He sighed and asked, “What do we do now?”

Kid stroked her chin in thought, sheathing her dagger. He finally concluded, “Magil. Let’s go do that thing we’ve been itchin’ to do.”

“You mean…?”

“Yeah, I mean that. Serge, you up for robbin’ a manor?”

A manor? That was a lot bigger than just middling jobs to get food on the proverbial table. A manor with countless riches they could take… a manor with countless guards to stab them on sight. He replied, “I dunno… maybe not tonight…?”

Kid looked up at the moon, oblivious to the idea that every law enforcement agent was on their trail, and now knew what they looked like. She mused, “Yeah, the moon ain’t quite right. Tomorrow, then.”

“D-do you even…” Serge started to question how aware of their situation she was, but stopped. A month on the run with them had taught him better, and a month with them was enough time to brand him a thief and a criminal. No going back to his flute and playing for his dinner. … speaking of, it seems he didn’t grab it. And he was without it. Great.

_Well_ , he thought to himself, _Better get ready to rob a manor._


End file.
